The War is Over Now
by Jesus Christ Superstar
Summary: One shot. James and Lily. Fear. Emolike and very sad. Read and Review. Kthnx.


**Disclaimer**: _Own nothing_.  
**Author's Note**: _I'm sick. I'm on drugs. I have no idea. Presenting-- MY "WHAT THE FUCK!" STORY!_

I'm so sticking with DE related fics after this. They're so much better and less confusing. ..;

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One could almost cut the depression that hung in the air around the small cottage. Every member inside the building was draped in black—shrouds of black velvet as dark as the midnight sky, and faces just as stoic and cold. They cluttered together, like flocks of ravens—the women preening their wings as they fluttered black fans briskly in front of their face. Be that from nerves, or from the occasional flush of embarrassment they felt when they causally glanced to the sofa where the young man sat, his face in his hands, fingers woven through the black hair he had tried so desperately to flatten before the services. The church had been worse than the little cottage was—the windows were shut to protest the rain that fell in large, splattering teardrops, drilling onto the windshields of the funeral precession—and then… the burial was slow and prolonged. The young man with the untidy black hair had stood, removing himself when the deceased's friends started to give speeches. His best friend—another with black hair—had to go and find him so that they could all follow him by throwing a small clump of dirt on the coffin and move on… They found him in the most unusual spot—he had been sitting underneath one of the large trees in front of the church with his son balanced on his lap, his eyes following the curves of the pouting cheeks, the pursed lips… the eyes that he couldn't but see his beloved look out from.

But now? His son was in the arms of his best friend—the once best man at his wedding—who was sitting in an arm chair, watching the man who refused to look up at the boy. It seemed that every three minutes the toddler would reach out for his father, his small plump fists grasping at the air that circled between the identical black tuffs, but he would fall silent when he realized that none wished to hold him… well, other than the one who had him sitting on his lap. And then, there would be the occasional that would dare to approach them, kneeling in front of the grief-stricken husband, setting their hand on his shoulder, and muttering something along the lines of, "It'll be all right, James…" before standing back up and making their exit. Nipping back into the kitchen as to not forget their Tupperware. It was with a slender hand that James actually moved—and it was a hand that, with it being placed upon his shoulder, came silence throughout the cottage. The touch was different, as it brushed against the formal jacket; polished nails, skin as cool and clear as Elizabethan porcelain.

Hazel eyes looked up the arm and into a face of deep sympathy—though the cold eyes could say otherwise. He said nothing, but looked into the dark irises, lips pressed into a line that revealed none of the disgust he felt—he was too tired to have his face mimic what he felt, what he wished to display to the world. Oh, how, at this moment, all he wanted to do was shove everyone out of the house—to sit there, on that couch, in silence… reliving each and every moment he had spent with her… Every tick of the clock that he could remember—he wasn't ready to part with her. He wasn't ready to be alone in the world, to be left in this relm where he was supposed to be a hero—supposed to protect those who couldn't stand on their own… Those that could not stand for what they believed in—the weak. He could not be a pedestal for those to lean against anymore. His own foundation had been destroyed right beneath him—blown out from under him with a single hex he couldn't stop. He had failed—James Potter had failed…

With that single touch, that momentary action, he remembered all of his school years—the times where he would sit up in the Common with her, laughing—being himself. The days where he would prop his feet up on the Gryffindor tables, smirk on his lips, and a scowl on hers. Her bright red hair shimmering in the innocent sunlight—the only worry on her mind being something along the lines of, if her skirt was just right, or if her sweater was in style… But, the touch was momentary. A small blink in time, and the woman reached over his shoulder, plucking something up from the table behind the couch, and rising it up to her face to look down her nose at it. Her painted lips curled into a smirk, and her dark eyes looked up and over at Sirius—neglecting James completely. Brows arched high above her oval eyes, and she tilted her head, "Narcissa couldn't make it. She sends her sympathies, however"—

"Bellatrix," it was, in short, a growl from Sirius, who sat with Harry upon his knee, the boy continuing to reach towards his father—his lips twisted into a silent cry that bespoke of the boy's need for his father's touch, as his mother was no more. But, Sirius tightened his hold on Harry's waist, as if sensing the fact that James wanted no interaction. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I thought it proper to come see the burial of a Potter. After all, I had a bet with Rodolphus from some time ago… I told him that the Dark Lord would kill at least one of them by a year after they graduated. He said it would take time," she lazily replaced the photograph by slinging it towards the couch. It landed face up beside James, and he looked down at the photo—Lily grinned up at him, a bashful flush on her cheeks, red hair falling around her shoulders as the Spanish breeze whipped her summer dress around her slender frame. James quickly turned it over, looking back up at Bellatrix as she continued, "If I was correct, he would have to attend the mass. If he was correct, I would have to stop by and give my condolences."

Sirius looked as if he were ready to kill, "You are a vile, snide, sadistic creature…" His dark eyes were glittering with hatred, and his already tousled hair shivered as he jerked his head towards the door, "Get out." Harry finally freed himself as Sirius stood to personally show his cousin out of the cottage—the toddler crawled over to James, using the man's slacks to draw himself up onto his feet, reaching out to press his finger against James' glasses. Meanwhile, Bellatrix simply looked down at Harry, her lips curved into the usual grin that was on her face, though her eyes swirled with hatred. The small boy had escaped her Dark Lord after all.

The whole house seemed to breathe in. And for the first time since the services, James looked around at those who had attended to pay respects. There were so many faces he knew—he could name. Though, there were the occasional that he couldn't. Remus stood in the corner, his hands clasped around a wine glass so hard that his knuckles were turning white—though, there was not a trace of inhospitality towards Bellatrix on his face. Peter was nonexistent. Dumbledore was not there—he had been one of the first to leave. He was always dashing in and out of James' life—it was no different. Dorcas stood towards the back, Marlene was by the bookcase… Edgar was next to Amelia, both holding plates and staring at Bellatrix as if she were a ghost. James returned his gaze as Harry reached up, tugging on his father's ear—muttering the speech that was so common with children. Bellatrix made no move to leave, however—her back was straight, and her fingers drummed along her arms as they were cross over her chest, the occasional black strand falling in front of her gaze as her loose bun shook with her laughter—"You are not of my family—you can not _command_ me to do anything."

"Get. Out." He sneered—and his mouth opened to shout something more at her, but Harry distracted all of them. The young child, who had been spending the last confrontational moments between Sirius and Bellatrix pulling on James in order to get the man's attention, started to throw a tantrum, angry with the fact that he was being ignored. He was now sitting on the ground, staring up at James, his series of babble forming a familiar human-like word that he sat and repeated over, and over.

"Da-da. Da-da!" His stare was intense, and James reached towards the boy to scoop the child up—but Sirius was quicker. He reached down, taking hold of James' boy, and James noticed something upon his best friend's face that he hadn't seen before. Sirius stared at where James was sitting, his dark eyes swirled with worry along with shock and nervousness—his brows arching and he looked down at Harry, who had begun to cry, his arms reaching towards James. Something clicked into place.

Sirius glared at Bellatrix, finally snapping—ignoring Harry's pleas to be held by James. He shoved her in the shoulder, twirling her around and pushed her towards the door—everyone snapping out of their coma-like states, the silence finally breaking. Remus had handed his wine glass to Dorcas, running forward to take Harry from Sirius' arms—but the man wouldn't relinquish James' son. All the while, no one had noticed that James had stood, striding after Sirius, arms out towards Harry—the only feeling that he had at the moment was that he couldn't let his boy go. Sirius turned away from both James and Remus, walking back to the chair where he sat, holding Harry in a tight clasp, though the child did absolutely everything possible to try to get away, all the while crying out for his father.

"SIRIUS." James screamed, his chest heaving with anger and fear—it couldn't be. No one heard him scream. No one looked at him… it did not phase a single soul in that room—save Harry, who stopped thrashing and crying, looking up at James with Lily's eyes… And James returned the look, kneeling in front of Sirius' lap, reaching out towards his son. Harry returned the motion, reaching out towards James' hand, and as they touched, James felt nothing… No.

"Both of them. And all they have left is a shaggy haired runt." Bellatrix laughed, and James stared up at her, his eyes wide, his brows arching—it all rushed back to him all too fast. Sirius never went to find James. Sirius came to find Harry… James did not speak because he was too distraught… he couldn't speak. They didn't wait for him to toss the dirt—they waited for Sirius and Harry… But, Harry could see him. Harry knew what was wrong—he was just a child. But, James didn't want to admit it. He removed his hand from his son's, using it to rake through his hair, his head pushed down so it leaned on his knee—Harry began to scream again.

Remus lowered his eyes, and Sirius pulled Harry close to his chest, "Stop it, please… He's not there—no one's there… Stop. Please, Harry, please…"

It was a rush of torment—a rush of anger and hatred so powerful that James did not know what else to do besides stand. He looked down on his best friend, his lips twisting into an angry scowl, his eyebrows lowering dramatically over his hazel eyes, which narrowed. "I AM HERE! RIGHT HERE! STOP! I AM HERE! LOOK AT ME!" He kneeled back down, reaching out to take Harry, but his hands went straight through his son, who started screaming once more—

"Shh… James, you were never good with children." It was a mixture between worlds. And he knew why she had come. Somehow, between that dark night and this moment, he had gotten lost from her side—from his foundation. In this moment, she had returned to take his hand and lead him home. But, for an odd moment, he didn't want to go. He almost wished to stay—but he stood, stepping back away from the figure of his wife, who ducked down beside Harry—the boy growing silent. "You have to be strong now." She said a simple phrase—but a powerful one, ending it with a kiss on the boy's forehead.

Lily then turned to James, "And you…" she smiled, green eyes glittering in the dulling light of the room around them as it faded, "… it's time for you to relax. Harry will succeed in all that we have failed, James."

"Failed… We didn't fail"—he shook his head, taking a step back.

"Oh, James—why must you make everything difficult?" She frowned, putting one arm on her hip, reaching out to brush his cheek with the other—"But, you are right. We did not fail. Harry is alive."

"He'll come back."

"Yes," she shook her head, pulling him to her, so his head rested upon her shoulder, "But, we can look after our son, James. No one is looking after Voldemort."


End file.
